Turn Me Loose

by Anne Calhoun

  “Wow,” Kelly said, an understatement if Riva had ever heard one. “But you didn’t go to jail.”

  “I was never officially charged. I helped him, and the arrest never happened.”

  “That’s why you dropped out. Disappeared.”

  “Yes. Through his eyes I saw what I’d become, and I was so ashamed. The only thing worse than being a teenage drug dealer was being a teenage drug dealer because I thought it would make my daddy love me.”

  “Oh, honey,” Kelly said.

  “It’s no big deal,” Riva lied. “I haven’t talked to him since I left Chicago. It’s not like television. When something like this goes down, it’s a fire drill for days, maybe weeks, and he was involved in both the Chicago and Lancaster situations. I gave my statement, packed up Mom and Sugar, and came home. It was just the heat of the moment,” she said firmly. Like she could talk herself into believing that.

  “Honey, I know heat of the moment, and I saw you two at Lit. That wasn’t heat of the moment. If it was heat of the moment it would have faded, not grown stronger.”

  Riva tucked a faded chintz pillow under her head and lay down on the swing. The beadboard over her head needed a new coat of paint, she noted in the back of her brain as she remembered Ian’s “fantasies.” Helping her. Asking her out. “Do people change?”

  “You did.”

  Riva didn’t say anything. It was true. She had changed. She’d started the moment Ian arrested her and was still changing. She wouldn’t have been strong enough to face down her father if Ian hadn’t bared his soul to her.

  Ian did bare his soul, scars and all, to her.

  “Look at this from his point of view. He’s had all the power, all the authority. But maybe he’s afraid you won’t want him. Maybe he’s waiting for you to come to him.”

  She remembered his face when he told her about his cancer diagnosis, his shattered dreams. Maybe he hadn’t come to see her because he was afraid she would see him as damaged goods.

  “You can’t think he doesn’t want you. Unless … was he pretending to like you?”

  “No.” Quiet and sure. “No, that was real. But it might cost him a promotion.”

  “Look, I can’t even begin to understand what you’ve been through and I have no idea what cops can or can’t do when it comes to informants. But if nothing else, you should talk to him. Either you two will find a way to start again, or you can move on.”

  “I can’t move on from him, Kel. He’s a part of me.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew them to be true. Ian was a part of her, knew her at her worst and at her best. He was the other half of her soul.

  “Then you’d better talk to him.”

  “What a terrifying thought,” she said with a shaky laugh. “Go find Ian Hawthorn and talk to him. I’ve spent years looking over my shoulder in coffee shops and restaurants and farmers’ markets, hoping I wouldn’t see him. I only went into the precinct because they’d arrested Isaiah.”

  “Time to stop running, my dear,” Kelly said fondly. “If nothing else, you’ll face this head on and put it behind you.”

  “I have to go, Kel. Mom and I are making dinner together. Turns out she’s actually a pretty good cook.”

  “Like mother, like daughter. Grant and I are talking about taking a long weekend to drive down to visit this farm of yours.”

  “Wyatt can help me feed the chickens,” she said.

  “You can put all of us to work,” Kelly said comfortably. “I’m glad you called me when you came home. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” Riva said.

  The call disconnected. She laid her phone on her abdomen and set the porch swing rocking with her foot. Just outside the porch roofline the sky was darkening to twilight blue.

  She had changed. Ian had too. Could she let down her guard that last little bit and trust him with her heart?

  * * *

  For the first time in the long days since he’d driven back from Chicago in a rental car, Ian wasn’t walking into the Block with his calendar full of meetings with HR, Internal Affairs, and the top brass as they went over … and over … and over what had happened in Chicago. For fun, sometimes they switched to what had happened in Lancaster, documenting the corruption case, taking statements, compiling evidence. Ian had driven through the night to be there for the arrests, carried out in coordinated early morning raids all over the city, arresting most of the cops at home or just coming off their night shifts. McCormick had taken the honor of putting the cuffs on Kenny, while Ian watched. Kenny had clammed up immediately, but they had months of evidence against him, both from McCormick’s work and from Rory Henneman’s meticulous records.

  Long days sandwiched between early mornings and late nights, all of it fueled by caffeine and takeout food. He found himself daydreaming about dinner at Oasis, fresh vegetables infused with the rich earth of Riva’s farm, the calm atmosphere of the dining room. He had every right to track her down. She was, once again, the star witness in a case he’d built. But he made himself wait. Sent Matt Dorchester, who for all he looked like a champion boxer had gone to town on his face, had a great demeanor with witnesses, to go over her statements. Sent a rookie cop to keep the reporters off her property. She had to come to him. For the first time in their crazy relationship, she had to seek him out, for him.

  Today his first appointment was with Dorchester, Conn McCormick, and Captain Swarthmore as they prepared for an in-depth interview with a reporter from the Star Trib.

  “All three of you will have to be there,” Swarthmore announced. “A photographer’s coming too.”

  The one person who deserved a big chunk of the credit wouldn’t get it. Riva had risked everything to bring down her father. The least Ian could do was to assign protection outside the farm, to keep the media swarm at bay.

  “Wow, sir, I feel a migraine coming on,” Dorchester said. Ian snorted. Dorchester’s aversion to publicity was well-known in the department.

  Swarthmore glared at him. “Don’t start with me. I remember what happened after the jewelry-store heist. We practically had to threaten to fail your probationary period to get you in front of the cameras. Man the fuck up.”

  “A terrible migraine,” Dorchester said, unrepentant. “The bright lights of the cameras will make it worse.”

  “Shut it. You, stand still.” McCormick stopped backing away, hands up, a hilarious look for a six-foot-six inch mountain of muscle. “Come on.”

  “Sir,” McCormick said desperately. “I put in my papers yesterday.”

  “You better get used to bright lights,” Dorchester said, studying his fingernails. “You’re going to be paparazzi fodder every time you leave Lancaster with Cady.”

  “That’s different,” McCormick said stubbornly.

  Swarthmore rubbed his forehead with his thumb and blew out his breath. “I have cops who would sell their mothers for time in front of the camera and a bust this big on their records. You three act like you brought me a big steaming pile of dog shit, not a multijurisdictional operation that ended more successfully than anyone dreamed.”

  Dorchester shrugged and opened his mouth. Swarthmore pointed a finger at him. “Let me guess. You’re just doing your job.”

  Dorchester tilted his head at Ian and McCormick. “The LT brought down the connection to the cartel, and he’s up for promotion. McCormick did the undercover work to take down Kenny. They deserve the press.”

  “Thanks,” McCormick and Ian muttered in unison.

  Swarthmore wheeled on Ian. “You’re a Hawthorn. You’ll take this. You’ll stand in front of the cameras, in uniform, and be the face of the department for this.”

  With a typical case, Ian had no trouble dealing with the press. He’d watched his dad do it long enough to be familiar with the drill and could spew stock phrases promoting teamwork and community involvement in his sleep. But through all the questioning, Riva had explained their relationship only in terms of her previous wor
k as a CI.

  The privacy couldn’t last. Someone, either the ADA or the disgraced cops’ defense attorneys, would ask a pointed-enough question, one neither of them could duck without an outright lie. Until then, he would protect her privacy as long as he could. But he had to tell Swarthmore.

  “Give us a minute.”

  McCormick and Dorchester left with a speed Ian would have found funny under any other circumstances.

  “What?” Swarthmore said, resigned. “What now?”

  “You don’t want me to be the public face of this operation.”

  “Ian,” Swarthmore said, already shaking his head. “Don’t say it.”

  He had to say it. For his own peace of mind, for his soul. He had to claim what he’d been unable to claim for so long. He had to claim Riva, everything she’d been, everything she was to him now. “I had a relationship with Riva Henneman while we were in Chicago.”

  Swarthmore folded his arms and looked at his shoes. “You said it.”

  Silence. There was nothing else to say.

  “What kind of relationship?”

  “Physical,” Ian said bluntly. “And emotional. I’m in love with her.”

  That brought Swarthmore’s head up. Ian imagined the expression on his face mirrored his captain’s; the words blindsided him. But it was true. He’d been falling in love with her for years, ever since he walked through Kaffiend’s front door that ill-fated night and she’d looked up at him.

  A month. I’ll give her a month to come find me. If she doesn’t, I’ll track her down.

  “Fuck me sideways.” Swarthmore rubbed his temples, like he was getting Dorchester’s “migraine,” but the words were without heat. “I told you that could kill your career. What happened to your ambition?”

  Ian shrugged. “I’m still ambitious. I just want something more than a career.”

  Swarthmore grunted. “Her?”

  “Her.” Maybe claiming Riva as his, now and forever, would cost him the captaincy. Maybe it would cost him his career. He found he didn’t care. Jamie would be leaving the navy in a few years. He and his brother would make a formidable team: a former cop and a former SEAL with connections in the business world through Jamie’s friend Keenan and the entertainment world through Conn McCormick? They could own that market. Eve would help them write the business plan. Until they got their feet under them, he could run the company out of Riva’s spare room … if she’d let him.

  A week after the paper runs the story, I go after her.

  Swarthmore leaned against his desk and studied Ian. “I’ve postponed putting in my papers. When the shit hit the fan, the chief and your dad asked me to stay until the worst of this blew over. I want to be sure the cleanup’s done right. You know, some people are arguing that you’re the best choice for the job because you’ll do whatever it takes to keep this place clean. That happened on my watch.”

  “We’re all responsible,” Ian pointed out. “McCormick’s the one who linked it all back to Kenny.”

  Swarthmore tapped his desk. “The buck stops here, kiddo.”

  “Dad would say it stops with him.” He searched his soul for the relentless grind that had once driven his every word, action, deed, and found it humming away in neutral. “Retire when you’re ready. If the brass offers me your office, I’ll take it. If not, that’s fine.” Ian took his internal temperature and discovered he actually meant it. He could take the captaincy or leave it. He was, he found, willing to wait for it. “Ever since the diagnosis, I’ve been trying to make up for what cancer cost me. The navy. A chance at a SEAL team. The kind of blind confidence every twenty-one-year-old kid has in his body, himself. The definition of crazy is doing the same thing and expecting different results. I was crazy. I was the best cop I could be, the best sergeant, the best lieutenant. It was never enough. But she’s enough. She’s more than enough.”

  “It’s probably love then,” Swarthmore said morosely, like he was delivering the worst possible news, like he was sending Ian to the scene of a highway wreck between a livestock truck and a toxic waste tanker.

  All Ian knew was that he wanted Riva right now, and forever. He just had to find the right way to tell her.

  “Fine, Jesus, fine,” Swarthmore said. “Tell those two jokers who report to you they’d better be here at one, in uniform, or they’ll answer to me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ian said. “Anything else?”

  “There better not be anything else. Why? You have somewhere to be?”

  “I have an appointment with my oncologist to get my bloodwork done.”

  Relief lightened Swarthmore’s expression. “About damn time. Get out of here. Take a couple of days off while you’re at it. You look like recycled shit.”

  An image of Oasis Farm drifted into his mind. The soft folds of hills scored with carefully nurtured furrows, the pond at the bottom, the bright, fresh green color of the branches arching over the gravel road to the gate. All he wanted to do was sprawl out on Riva’s porch swing and listen to the birds, the chickens, the breeze in the trees.

  Today. I find her today.

  But first, he was going to get the damn bloodwork done.

  Goal clear in his mind, he strode through the bullpen and shoved open the door to the reception area. A woman stood in front of the reception window. Automatically he registered details, a summer-weight denim wrap skirt, a tank top, and flip-flops, with red-brown-bronze hair tumbled around her shoulders as she spoke to the desk officer through the bulletproof glass. His heart kicked hard when her words registered.

  “… Ian Hawthorn available?”

  “Riva,” he said. Riva, Riva, Riva. Here to see him. Saying his name.

  She spun, blinked. “Oh. You’re here.” Her gaze flicked to his keys in his hand. “But you’re leaving,” she said, backpedaling. “I’ll come back later.”

  Nancy, his oncologist’s receptionist, had said they’d fit him in anytime. He’d take her at her word. “Now’s good. Now’s great,” he said, thinking fast. Not his office, where she might feel scrutinized. “Let’s step outside. It’s a nice day.”

  The parking lot was fairly quiet, a few civilians coming and going with paperwork in hand. Riva caught her hair in one hand and looked at him. Rather than blurting out you came you came to me, he fell back on routine. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing.” She gave a little huff of a laugh, then looked at him sidelong. “I … I wanted to tell you something. You know how you said you used to dream about saving me? Rescuing me?”

  He flushed but kept looking at her. “I remember,” he said.

  She tucked her hair behind her ear and peered up at him. “I wanted to tell you … you already did. The day you arrested me was the day I started to find myself. I literally owe you my life because you couldn’t have saved me any more completely than if you’d dragged me from a burning building or pulled me from a wrecked car.” She took a deep breath. “That’s all. I’m not asking for forever. I just wanted you to know that. You’ve already saved me.”

  He looked around, at the fluffy white clouds drifting through an expanse of blue, at the new leaves dancing in the breeze, and felt his heart expand to fill the sky. “Riva, you saved yourself. You were so brave despite being thrust into situations that panic trained undercover cops. You did everything I asked of you, never complained, never backed down, never tried to justify your actions or make excuses. I should have asked. And,” he said, warming to his task, “I never should have listened to you that day I came to Oasis. When you told me to leave and I did, you thought I cared more about who you were, what you’d done than I did about who you could be. I let you think you couldn’t be someone different, that seven years of growing and learning and working your ass off to make something real and strong and connected didn’t matter. That no matter what, I couldn’t like you, much less love you.”

  “Ian, I really don’t think—”

  “Riva, I’m trying to apologize here.” He took a deep breath. “The thing is,
I’ve been head over heels for you since the day I saw you at Kaffiend. Seeing you before trial only made it worse, and it was game over when I saw you with those kids at Oasis. I’ve been in love with you for the last seven years.”

  “Ian. I love you too.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, by the way. After the way you came through that door at Sweet Science? Trev would have shot me and Micah right there. You saved my life. We’re even. Wait … what?”

  She smiled up at him, obviously amused and touched by his declaration. “Shut up for five seconds so I can tell you I love you.”

  His heart stopped, flipped a slow loop in his chest, then started beating again. “I thought that’s what you said.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He searched her gaze and found mirrored there the certainty he felt deep in his heart. The past was the past, and their future, while uncertain, would hold only the kind of love that made the bad times bearable and the good times the best. “Again, with my name,” he whispered. Because that would never get old.

  Amusement flashed in her eyes, but she humored him. “Ian. I love you.”

  “Then I can do this.” He cupped her jaw in both hands and leaned down to kiss her, soft and sweet, lingering a little longer than was perhaps appropriate for the civilian parking lot in front of the Block, but he’d waited so long. The simple contact felt so good, so right.

  “Am I keeping you from something?” she murmured when he bent his forehead to hers. “I know you’re on duty. I just had to…”

  “I was on my way to find you. After one stop,” he said. “My oncologist’s office. I haven’t gotten a checkup in over two years. I’ve been avoiding it.”

  Her strong fingers wrapped around his wrist and stroked his pulse. “Ah,” she said. “Been busy?”

  “Yup.”

  “Don’t see the point?”

  “A little of that.”

  “Afraid of getting bad news?”

  “A little of that too.” He squinted at her sideways. “Maybe a lot of that. But that’s where I was going. My oncologist’s office, to get the blood drawn. Then to Oasis.”